Narrative poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best narrative poems ever written. Read all poems about narrative.
His poems refuse
to mourn his passing, they
detach themselves from
books, magazines, wall hangings
You weren't well or really ill yet either;
just a little tired, your handsomeness
tinged by grief or anticipation, which brought
to your face a thoughtful, deepening grace.
Today the Masons are auctioning
their discarded pomp: a trunk of turbans,
gemmed and ostrich-plumed, and operetta costumes
labeled inside the collar "Potentate"
Dear Dr. Pintu Mahakul,
Heartiest CongratulationsTo You!
The great man turns his back on the island.
Now he will not die in paradise
nor hear again
the lutes of paradise among the olive trees,
S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.
WEAPON, shapely, naked, wan!
Head from the mother's bowels drawn!
Wooded flesh and metal bone! limb only one, and lip only one!
PALLAS, attending to the Muse's song,
Approv'd the just resentment of their wrong;
And thus reflects: While tamely I commend
Those who their injur'd deities defend,
Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate:
His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull,
Night is fallen
and the single star writing in the heavens
Let our borrowers pay us back
We can take no more flack
We have to remain on track
In that soft season, when descending show'rs
Call forth the greens, and wake the rising flow'rs;
When op'ning buds salute the welcome day,
If from great nature's or our own abyss
Of thought we could but snatch a certainty,
Perhaps mankind might find the path they miss--
But then 'twould spoil much good philosophy.
Nothing so difficult as a beginning
In poesy, unless perhaps the end;
For oftentimes when Pegasus seems winning
The race, he sprains a wing, and down we tend,
Thank you for representing life as a Gothic horror
with the nerve-wrecking shocks of demented men,
dad as Heathcliff, mom as Mr Rochester’s mad first
wife and you a strange mixture between Jane Eyre
'There is a tide in the affairs of men
Which,--taken at the flood,'--you know the rest,
And most of us have found it now and then;
At least we think so, though but few have guess'd
Ah!--What should follow slips from my reflection;
Whatever follows ne'ertheless may be
As à-propos of hope or retrospection,
As though the lurking thought had follow'd free.
THE leaves were fading when to Esthwaite's banks
And the simplicities of cottage life
I bade farewell; and, one among the youth
Though nature weigh our talents, and dispense
To every man his modicum of sense,
And Conversation in its better part
Obscurest night involv'd the sky,
Th' Atlantic billows roar'd,
When such a destin'd wretch as I,
Wash'd headlong from on board,
May 13,1991. Monday.6: 10pm.
sun is setting here bamboo plantation everywhere, granny bustle busy preparing ቆጮ grandpa works in the garden, Bruk sat next to dad on stones at ድቡሻ joined them unsure, dad severely scolding in undertone on gathered information, intention to shield from life Bruk had in Addis backfired, company hangs out with worse than before disappointing, didn't take him long to assimilate bibing crowd he favored, darkness attracts hyenas granny 'በድሎ! ' in anguish searching, grandpa let grandson be his wife handles distasteful matters, enjoyed old age in peace unperturbed used to be feared by all, ብሩክ hated way of life unaccustomed to lack in any sense, 'ብርቱካኔ! ' ማኬ አዴ dotes on her hear booming voice when he call, reminise kudos to journals did unravel valuable narrative, happy birthday brother dear you're best guardian we have
SIFAN HASSAN, Champion London Marathon 2023
I once wrote a narrative poem about her:
[ a PI (3.14) ]
psithurism, the sound leaf to leaf talking by choreographic touches
a song to fill in a gap of a chaotic structure of life
dreams talk back to reality.reality talks back to actuality.actualitybtalks back to contextual facts imcomplete.contextual facts talks back to imperfect picture of narrative stories.narrative stories talk to narrator's imagination driven by conscious construction and by subconscious acts.conscious construction and subconscious acts builg up meaning of fictional-nonfictional hands seen by quiet wisdom.quiet wisdom lives with layered-multidimensional gates of reality-nature.reality-nature is comoletely silent surrounded by enviromental beings and becomings out of nature-culture anthropocene.
Perhaps Adam and Eve weren't interested in salvation; Maybe today they were restructured to wander about Jupiter's size. Or Saturn's alluring rings. Adam possibly is planning on reaching out for one of them and asking Eve out. Taking a less abstruse narrative; Potentially The Garden of Eden didn't exist. Neither Adam and Eve. Perhaps we have been cycling and going through Mother Earth or Mercury or Uranus before we were taught how to breath. Perhaps there's no Doomsday or a day that never ends. Perhaps the bible was right; we are all little divine demons.
''look to front.see front.''
no anology.no allegory.no thought.no myth.no narrative.
just plain plains.
everybody is ordinary.
ordinary is nature of culture.
culture of nature is colourless nature without decorated knowledge as narrative thought.
just a moment of new silence beyond meditative truths.
YOU USE ME FOR GERMANE,
YOU USE ME FOR CHIMERIC,
YOU USE ME FOR ATARAXIA,
BUT YOU FORGOT YOUR SAG,
metabolism of metanarrative and narrative identities stop to death
only non-linguistic emptiness
transcendality of new dimensional moon-light reflecting on lotus
Tell me something,
I'm greatly needing.
What do you do,
When your heart is bleeding?
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